Enough to Condemn a Man
by CalculusWasTough
Summary: Barty didn't love Harry from the beginning. In fact, he despised him and everything he stood for. But gradually his hate grew to something more. And when he took the Dementor's kiss, his last wish was to see those Avada Kedavra green eyes one more time.


**Title: Enough to Condemn a Man**

**Challenge: Paimpont's "Secret Crush on Harry Competition"**

**Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling owns these characters. I'm writing this just for fun. **

**A/N: Story is completely GOF compliant; I've matched the dialogue from the book to the dialogue in the story when necessary, but I'll do my best to make sure I rarely have to use it. The chapters line up too. There's one chapter per chapter in the book with Barty/Moody in it (although I may include extra chapters for him behind the scenes). Also, the feelings in this are very one sided. There's absolutely no chan. **

**Chapter 1: The Quidditch World Cup**

Barty Crouch couldn't believe how incredibly stupid his father was. The man's voice was echoing loudly inside his mind—_"Stay out of trouble. Just be a good boy. Don't move, don't talk, don't do anything but sit there until the match is over."_—repeating the same words over and over again, and Barty was doing exactly as he was told, held against his will by the power of the curse. But the spell was breaking, and his idiot father had no idea.

If he concentrated hard enough, Barty could twitch the fingers in his right hand. It wasn't much, but it was a promising start. Every couple seconds his father's mantra broke through, and he forgot what he was doing. He would look up and stare blankly at the Quidditch pitch, waiting for the match to start. Eventually, his consciousness would creep in and he would think, _Why? Why should I sit here and do nothing, not even move? _Then he would remember his mission and begin focus on breaking the Imperius again.

It was slow going, but Barty Crouch had nothing if not time.

Just when he managed to clench his entire hand into a fist, he heard someone in the row in front of him gasp, "Dobby?" He looked up when his father's house elf answered.

"Did sir just call me Dobby?" Winky squeaked. Barty didn't hear the reply, because at that moment his mind went blank and he turned to stare at the Quidditch pitch, wondering idly if the match would begin soon because he was terribly bored sitting there with nothing to do. He should bring a book next time, or arrive a little later.

He was abruptly thrust back into himself when Winky exclaimed, "You is surely being Harry Potter!"

_Harry Potter? _he thought with a start. Had he been able to move, he probably would have leapt out of his seat and gone for Potter's throat. Harry Potter, the boy responsible for the downfall of the man Barty loved and respected more than his own father, was sitting less than five feet away from him, and he was unable to do a goddamn thing about it. He couldn't even see the boy's face properly, since it was turned towards Winky, and he himself could not shift his face to accommodate.

_Look at me, _he silently commanded. _Look at me, __**murderer**__._

"Why's he sent you up here, if he knows you don't like heights?" Potter asked the house elf.

"Master – master wants me to save him a seat, Harry Potter. He is very busy," said Winky. She tilted her head toward the seat Barty was occupying, and Potter finally turned to look at him.  
>Barty's breath caught in his throat. With those green eyes leveled right at him, pinning him to his chair, the Imperius curse shattered and the fuzziness in his head vanished. For the first time in years, he could think clearly, without his father's voice overriding his every thought. It was a glorious feeling.<p>

The connection between him and Potter lasted only a second. Since the boy didn't know there was someone actually sitting in the seat beside Winky, he had no reason to continue staring at it. In fact, he had already turned back around to have a conversation with the two people on either side of him. Barty would have laughed at his obliviousness – it would be so easy for him to just lean over and snap Potter's neck right now; no one would see or suspect him – but he was still stunned by his newfound freedom, by those Avada Kedavra green eyes.

_How did he do that? _he asked himself in wonderment. _How… without even knowing what he was doing? _He twisted to check on Winky, to make sure she hadn't noticed anything odd. She had her face hidden behind trembling fingers. Then he twisted around the other way, just to enjoy the freedom of moving on his own. Maniacal laughter bubbled up his throat, but he shoved it back down.

There would be time for laughing later, after he was safely away from his father and his faithful house elf. Now, it would only draw attention to him.

Barty stood slowly, careful not to jostle his invisibility cloak, deliberating on his options. He could run. He could leave right now, and no one, neither Winky nor his father, would know until the end of the match. And by then, he could be thousands of miles away. But where would he go? What would he do? His gaze drifted to the messy mop of black hair in the row in front of him. And he knew.

_I'll find what's left of my master,_ he vowed, _and I will return him to his former glory. And then you, Potter, will watch as everyone you ever cared about dies a miserable, agonizing death. One person for every year I spent under the Imperius, waiting for my master to come for me, knowing he wouldn't because of __**you**__._

He could have killed Potter right then and there, if he wanted. But he wasn't armed, and as soon as the boy was dead, the air would fill with hexes from the horde of red heads with him. He'd be discovered, and sent back to Azkaban, or given the Dementor's kiss. And he couldn't die yet, not when his master still needed him. Besides, that way was too easy, too forgiving. When Potter's time came, there would be no mercy. Only a lifetime's worth of pain.

First, though, Barty had to deal with his father. And he wouldn't be able to do that until after the match, because even if he left Winky here and returned to their tent, it was unlikely his father would be there. He might as well stay here and watch the Quidditch game then; it was better than sitting around waiting in a tent by himself.

As he was sitting back down, decision made at last, Barty cast another look at the back of Potter. Then he noticed something. Something incredible. There, jutting halfway out of the boy's pocket, _was a wand_. Had the boy no common sense? A condescending smirk twisted itself onto Barty's face.

_ His loss. _


End file.
